


Wicked Game

by briizy



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Drunken Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 03:14:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6836776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/briizy/pseuds/briizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which James Neal deals with Game Seven sadness, Paul Martin figures shit out, and, somewhere in Pittsburgh, Evgeni Malkin feels validated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wicked Game

**Author's Note:**

> Paul Martin is literally an angel, James Neal is an agent of chaos, and I miss them both terribly. 
> 
> #breakfastbuddies for lyfe
> 
> Written during the course of Game Seven of the Nashville-San Jose series.
> 
> Title from "Wicked Game" covered by James Vincent McMorrow, which makes me do the cry thing.
> 
> ヽ(*ﾟｰﾟ*)ﾉ

It's far too early in the morning when Paul's phone buzzes against his bedside table. His room is still dark, illuminated only by the dim lights of his alarm clock, reading 3:46 AM. Paul stirs, wrapped in his comforter, and knuckles his eyes as he rolls over. He squints at the blurry forms in his room, but shuts his eyes again when the phone stops ringing. He doesn't remember about the call until he's well into his morning routine, breakfast made and coffee poured. He raises an eyebrow when he sees "James Neal" written across his phone screen. Paul puts the phone on speaker as he continues eating. James' voice fills the kitchen in an echo of breakfasts past in Paul's Pittsburgh house.

"...mmmmm. Heyo, voicemail! Haaaaa...I shouldn't be doing this. I shouldn't. Nope. But. But Paulie. Paul, Paulster, _Pal_. I'm really drunk. Like. Reaaaaally fuckin' drunk. I think." He huffs out a laugh. "I can't feel my hands. What the fuck are hands, anyway. Like—oh my god, Paulie, do I still have hands? Paulie, what am I gonna do, I don't have any hands, I can't play hockey anymore, I'm gonna have to—wait. I found them. My hands are riiiiiiight here. They're cold. Why the fuck are they cold, Paulie? I think...I think they're sad, Paulie. I'm sad." He falls silent. Paulie can picture him leaning against some wall somewhere, head tipped back against the brick as he examines his fingers.

"I'm glad you didn't pick up...I'm drunk. Did I tell you, Paulie, that I'm drunk? I think so. I ramble when I'm drunk, but you knew that. You know lots about me, Paulie. Lots. I think you know more about me than I know about me. I..." He trails off. Paul puts his dishes in the sink, resisting the habitual urge to wash them, and moves into his family room.

"I really wanted to win tonight. I didn't want to go home just yet, Paulie. It's always too soon." He breaks off and Paul listens to him shuffling around for a few seconds.

"You guys did really well, you know that? Like, I think this might be a little bit blasphor-blesfl-ugh, whatever, you know what I'm trying to say, you're one of those fuckin', fuckin' educated types, yeah? You're so smart, Paulie, like you know shit I never thought was a thing until you were like 'hey, this is a thing.' I'm fuckin' _enlightened_ because of you. Enlightened, Paulie. Um. I. What was I saying?" There's the sound of a door opening and closing as Paul listens to James presumably entering his hotel room.

"Mm, oh yeah. The game. The fuckin' game. Game _Seven_ , holy fuck. You guys were good. Are good. I think...I want you guys to win it all, you know. And not just because you beat us, not just 'cause of that, Paulie. I want—" He hiccups. "I want you to win, Paulie, 'cause you were so fuckin' good all series. All the time, Paulie, so fuckin' _good_. You deserve to win it." James' voice gets a little thick.

"I want to win it, too. I wanted to win it with you, Paulie, 'cause you're so fuckin' great. We were so fuckin' great." He pauses and Paul draws in a sharp breath as he sinks onto his couch, knees suddenly a little weak. "I miss you," James slurs out, his voice quieter now. "I miss you, Paulie. It took me months to stop expecting to see your, your face in the morning at breakfast. I just, I just, Paulie. Paulie, you should know. You should know that I miss your face. And you. Your fuckin' _accent_ , Paulie, I can't believe I've missed your stupid Minnesotan accent."

"I didn't know, Paulie, I didn't know. How much I would miss you." His voice cracks. "It's a lot. You were, like, special to me, my fuckin' favorite. Don't tell Geno. Oh my god, _please_ don't tell Geno. You know what though, you know what, I think he already knows. I think they all know, Paulie, they all know how important you were. You are. To me, speci-fically, 'cause you are really damn important."

"I was so fuckin' scared, Paulie, to tell you how much you meant to me. There were too many, too many, things I wasn't sure about. Did you want me like I wanted you? I, Paulie, I di'n't wanna choose, but I was so scared. By the time I got traded, it was too late. I almost told you, you know, when we said goodbye. I just, I couldn't do it. I wasn't dying. I would prolly have told you if I was dying."James takes a deep breath and switches gears.

"I'm drunk. This is not, not a good idea, but I don't care, I just lost and I'm fucking _tired_. Tired of not knowing, tired of keeping it quiet. Tired, 'cause I don't feel like the 'Real Deal' anymore, okay. I don't want to be that, not with you." He pauses. "I just. I want to be yours. Your Jamie. You're the only one who calls me that, did you know? I keep it, for you, 'cause I'm your Jamie and you're my...you're not. You're not mine. And I really really want you to be. Be _my_ Paulie. Paul, this is me, asking you. Paulie, be my Paulie. Be mine." Paul can hear James sniffle a little. He's had enough experiences with a drunk James that he knows James is going to fall asleep soon; he's got phases, from happy and fun-loving to sad and emotional to flat out asleep. Paul focuses in on James' voice again as he continues.

"I'll be yours, Paulie. I will. I'll fuckin', I'll learn how to be good for you. I promise. Paulie, I swear, I won't screw us up. I'll learn how to make eggs and shit without burning them even a little bit, so you don't have to do all the cooking. I'd do it for you..." His voice is tight now, like he's trying not to cry. "I'm gonna. I'm gonna stop talking now. I shouldn't have started. The more I talk, the more I 'mbarrass myself."

"Paulie." James sounds a little panicked now, a little more awake. "Paulie, please don't hate me. I couldn't stand it if you hated me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Paulie, that I'm not...I'm not." He sighs into the phone and Paul closes his eyes. "I'm gonna go, Paulie. Um. Good job, tonight, you're...you're really fuckin' great. Take care, Paulie. I love you." He's quiet for a few more seconds and he says it again, softly, before the voicemail cuts off. "I love you."

Paul sits on his couch in shock for a few seconds. He blinks, blinks again, and rockets off the couch, grabbing his keys as he runs out the door.

* * *

 Paul skids to a halt outside of James' room, as much as someone like Paul Martin can skid to a halt, and knocks on the door with three sharp taps of his knuckles. He waits impatiently as he hears someone grumbling on the inside.

"...fucking early, what the hell—Paulie? What are you doing he—" he's cut off as Paul forces him back into his room, shutting the door firmly behind him without breaking eye contact with James. "What the hell, man? It's not exactly the best time, right now, okay, Sharks aren't exactly my favorite people right now, even you."

"You're a fucking idiot, Jamie." Paul says. James, who had been squinting at the light in the entranceway, his face drawn and a little sad, fixes his gaze back on Paul as he spoke. He frowns and retorts.

"What the fuck is your issue? You can't just—" he shuts up again as Paul reaches up and cups his jaw in one hand. "Um, Paulie. What..." Paul strokes his thumb across James' cheekbone and smiles at him. "What's going on?"

Paul kisses him. He's soft and gentle with it as he shifts the hand on James' cheek up across his temple and sinks it into James' admittedly ridiculous bed head; he curls the other one over James' hip and waits for James' likely hungover brain to catch up. Paul presses another close-mouthed kiss to James' lips and softly drags his nose along his cheek a little bit before he pulls away. James' blue eyes are wide and his mouth drops open as he watches Paul.

Paul smiles serenely up at him and tilts his head. "I love you," he says. James makes a small startled noise. "I've loved you, Jamie, and I will love you." He drops his hand from James waist and steps back, trying to give him space to process.

"I—Paulie—what?"

"I don't think you remember much, but you left me a very revealing voicemail _extremely_ early this morning." James' mouth drops open again and he blushes furiously.

"Oh, god. Oh no. Please tell me I didn't..."

"You did. But it's okay, Jamie."

"This is not how I wanted this to go."

"You're telling me you had a plan?"

"Um. Well, not a _plan_ , per say..."

"You're the most ridiculous human being I've ever met." James looks up from the floor and meets Paul's eyes, his cheeks still a little red. Paul grins at him and continues. "But I love you anyway."

A smile slowly spreads across James' face. He's finally caught up and his eyes crinkle at the corners as he realizes what Paul is saying. He launches himself towards Paul and wraps both arms around his shoulders as he tucks his face into Paul's neck. " _Paulie_ ," he says, a little desperately. Paul's arms come up around his waist as he pulls him in tighter, closing his eyes and twisting his head to bury his nose into James' hair.

"Yeah, baby, I've got you." Paul responds, smiling as James shifts in his arms. James pulls his face away from Paul's neck and looks at him, startled.

"Is that a thing? Are we using pet names?" He asks.

"Do you want to?" Paul counters.

"Fuck yes I want to, are you kidding?"

Paul runs a hand through his hair and looks a little sheepish. "We haven't had the best track record with communication, Jamie, I'd rather be safe than sorry." James hums in agreement.

"Good call, honey bun."

Paul rolls his eyes and magnanimously says, "I'll allow it." James grins at him and leans forward.

This kiss is the best yet as Paul walks them backwards to lower James softly down onto the bed. He grins down at him and can't resist saying it again as he strokes James' cheek.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Paulie."

**Author's Note:**

> also please be kind to me, i am small and not very experienced with writing, as in this is the first narrative i've written outside of a creative writing class i took in seventh grade. which, you know, not exactly pulitzer prize material.
> 
> the bit about nealer losing his hands actually came from a dream of mine. not cool stuff, i totally freaked and woke myself up. also not cool, i need all the sleeps.


End file.
